The Lawman's Daughter
by ASilverClawedRaven
Summary: The Vampire Wars have raged several generations by the time of the civil war, The Volturi have turned over north America to the two bitter sides and the only hope for a lost Majors is one Belle Swan, the lawman's daughter. She just doesn't know it yet. Jasper/Bella


Hello

Welcome back to

**The Lawman's Daughter**

Due to a request of one of my reviewers I am reposting this tale.

This story is loosely based on the idea of the second vampire war, the volturi have grown tired of having to clean up the mess and have instead turned the entirety of North America over to two warring clans viewing the war as a social experiment to see if vampires can come out of the shadows and rule the human world as they were meant too.

The events of the books after Jasper's turning never took place and Isabella(Belle) Swan was born into a world dominated entirely by vampires around the time period the civil war should have been fought.

I own nothing, everything belongs to Miss Myers who sadly I am not

With the fine print taken care of lets move on to.

Chapter 1 Our Settlement

ASilverClawedRaven

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"It's the safest time of day for us" he said answering the unspoken question in my eyes The easiest time But the saddest in a way...the end of another day.

Twilight page 233

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Papa raised me well, the first rule I can remember being taught is how to survive another sunrise, whatever the weather be inside by sundown

The town elders kept records he said, between these dusty pages our lives are recorded in nearly illegible scrawl not that it matters.

For you see few here have the ability to read, beyond the basic ability to mind a store or tend the family money. it is an unnecessary skill as any letter that arrived always contained bad news no one is any rush to cross another name off the family tree.

That is not to say we aren't educated many learned members call this place home Dr. Carlyle to name one, the town parson to name another. Either would gladly share what they knew during the long cold nights of winter to anyone willing to listen.

It was after all tradition here to share what you knew, those that had skills passed them on, taking apprentices and laborers in the field or mill as they have need, others passed on crafts or medical skills. Weaving, boat making iron smiting or the like all had their place. That way valuable information is preserved.

Those lucky enough to live past their 40th winter became an elder.

Not many have that pleasure

Work ended over hot mugs of ale or tea by the fire of the Inn. We all gathered there two hours before sundown eager to hear of life before the wars. Or what little there was remembered and passed down. One family per settlement was left untouched by the evil that hemmed us in place. The keepers as they were affectionately called. They alone kept written notes, diaries and accounts of the past. Happy days they seemed to us, where one could marry and love whom one chose. Where it seemed music was always playing and a roaring hearth fire in company with a good meal was the best comfort of a simple life.

It is not so now, even in this the third generation since the Second vampire war began,

Humans cannot fight vampires, many have tried and failed, their names whispered in shadowed homes by winter a small rebellion against the tide of darkness. Small and fragile we have learned our place.

We are a food source, considered little better than the livestock of the fields to these hunters. Like the cows we keep for food the vampires to watch blood lines and guard their food supply well. Testing each new generation for benefits or weakness. Taken on the summer of their 18th birthday all young people stand before the hunter known as The Judge, this warrior is rumored to know every thought or emotion a human is capable and through from what I hear the entire thing covers the space of only a moment, if you have a gift, then you are taken, weather to become food or a foot soldier your fate is sealed. The others always return with vacant eyes and after a good rest can remember nothing of the Testing.

I mentioned wedlock earlier and now I am afraid I must delve into the subject for your understanding. Love has no bid in the affair women are given in marriage to those of best blood scent. Its our only protection.

The rarer your blood scent the longer you survive

That is not to say there cannot be love, most pairs seem very happy in their partners. Laughing and teasing about while they enjoy the 3 years of freedom from raids known as the Joy season. If a women falls with child during that time, as many do she and her husband are left in peace until the child reaches the age of 10 there to pass on the knowledge and traditions of our people.

This settlement is only raided once every few years, like a well cultivated garden only those vampires who have proven themselves in battle come here. Good news for the prey it means a swift death and the comfort of a body to bury for those left behind.

The further south one lived the thicker the town records and the higher the body count.

It is rumored that in some settlements they can't bury the dead fast enough but burn them like the kings of old.

Papa being a newly made elder had begun to share their secrets with me.

Tonight I have just learned of those we call the vanished. While I work on mending one of his shirts, the familiar motion of the needle and thread kept me grounded while I sat staring in wonder at him as I drank in every scrap of new information .

Those given in service to a vampire clan, or taken in raids fall into this column, I've been told that's what happened to Mama, 14 winters ago. She had gone to the barn to help the mare with her first colt and when she left the moon had risen. I was only four summers old but I still remember her scream.

Papa well he never recovered, he acted much the same but it was as if his heart would never feel warmth again, He tried to pretend, yet even now he mourns her in those dark watches of the night. Men regard him with respect; women with doleful expression as he has never given a thought to a second marriage. Though the women titter and gossip about him It seemed perfectly natural to me, he loved Mama and no one else could measure her memory.

He's lawman in these parts but there isn't a thing he can do against the night hunters No one expects him to.

We have adjusted of course; no one gets real close to his or her neighbors the first year they come to town. What's the sense when they could be carried off?

If they survive their first year they become family.

Women above 10 summer gather daily at the parson house to gossip on crops, livestock and new weapons for hunting or war. Hoping as they do in silence that some great battle will turn the tide of the wars and finally one side will gain a this would change our daily lives I haven't a notion.

I attend to my needlework sip tea and chat idly with young women my own age. Miss Angela and Miss Lauren are with me a the moment chattering like a pair of magpies while smoothing their dresses with nervous energy, one of dusky blue the only a light yellow contrast badly with the dark green of my own but I give it little thought they are a bundle of nerves these days, with our 18th summer swift approaching it will soon be time for our testing.

Beyond that I am sad to sat our lives are a trifle boring You see, while the sun is up this is just another small settlement with our own concerns and troubles. Currently the butcher is in a royal fury with the baker, for some trade or other neither liked. much to the amusement of their wives who are the best of friends.

Each settlement has its own scent Miss Esme says, that's how they are told apart by the night hunters. With golden eyes and a smile that could light a room she's a neutral. That's what we call those night hunters who have elected to stay out of the wars. They eat livestock or forest animals.

Each town has two, elected by the town to watch over us and be sure the next generation learned the ways of the world outside our borders, also in rare occasion to step in to see that those of lesser rank don't attempt to take what isn't theirs, that is to say one of us.

Territories of the two sides are well defended by the war dogs, how they came under the rule of the Coven of the South no one remembers yet they patrol around the edge of town every morning. The leader Samson is a wonder to see, heavily muscled and with a coat of glossy black fur. his second in command is a rich brown red.

After every raid they come and comfort those left behind

I well remember the morning they came to us, I cried myself to sleep while Jay curled around me his fur bathing me in a sea of warmth and protection. Papa went out with the Samson, he returned just before dawn his expression oddly vacant like he'd been tested. Neither mentioned from that day to think what had occurred and I have the good sense not to dig.

Papa approves of the war dogs, they protect us from the newest battle that rages just a few towns away, at least that's our hope,

Night hunters don't fight like men yet one of older women of the town say they look like us but the neutrals are our only clue they are beautiful and eternally young but have never lifted a hand to harm a human. Esme's only warned us to watch the eyes of the night hunter then you would know their intent.

As if anyone ever had the time during a raid I thought with an unladylike snort

Yet I once spent minutes looking into Dr. Carlyle golden eyes on my 10th birthday when I had taken a fall from the steps of the porch badly spraining my foot while learning to dance . Beyond much pained sorrow for my discomfort and a gentle rebuke to be more careful in future, I could make out no trace of those dark creatures that cause such distress.

He was not a killer.

Our home is comfortable wooden affair, with woven rugs on the floor and soft hides decorating the walls. Deer, bear and the like. Papa loves to hunt and fish when he's not settling disputes between the town members. As hobbies go it is a noble one. Winter is nipping at the door, but our storehouse is full of dried meat and what little plant life we can salvage or keep.

The hearth fire is crackling in my ears as Papa began to read aloud from one of his hunting books, before I knew what hit me, my needle work fell to the floor with a soft thump as I begin to dream once more.

Always of one thing I am certain, in my dreams however the begin they will end in the name manner, the same pair of crimson eyes will appear, a familiar voice in my ear will murmur low words beyond my hearing and then the most wonderful sense of peace will sweep over me as if nothing in this world could harm me.

I suppose it is natural to be afraid with my testing coming in a few days, yet I cannot shake the feeling of expectation as I woke the next morn as the rooster crowed. A short time later breakfast was on the table and I was cleaning the workspace as papa began to stir. Thick brown bread honey and coffee with a few pieces of pork left over from the last butcher day. The sun was streaming in through the unbarred windows making the wood floor shine like amber. It was as I fondly remember just another morning in the life of Miss Belle Swan.

Little did I know trouble wasn't far away.

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So what think you noble readers? different to be sure but is it worth another chapter?

My beta is out of town so any horrid error you may have stumbled on are mine.

The person that grants this story its **5th review** shall have the dedication for the next installment

Be sure to check back for chapter 2. Belle Swan

ASilverClawedRaven


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